


the ink bled right through

by camiii



Series: love and kickin'!verse [3]
Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Coming Out, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Refernced Homophobic Language, Injury, Liam being a good bean, M/M, No worries, so very minor though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 01:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8231284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camiii/pseuds/camiii
Summary: At seventeen staying in the closet had felt like a price he was willing to pay to have his dream come true. At twenty-five, he wants both.A timestamp pre-love & kickin'





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> after weeks and weeks of not writing a single word, I had a random burst of inspiration and this happened. I don't understand how my brain works but I'm going with it. there might be another part to this coming later (shh, don't tell my brain or it'll freak out and forget it knows how to type)
> 
> a timestamp, of sorts, set around six months before love & kickin'. Louis' POV, because apparently he's very adamant that he should get to tell his side of things.
> 
> overly dramatic fic title borrowed from damien rice's [colour me in](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M2SbH6tFLOs), which is not only one of my all time favourite songs, but perfect for Louis in this snapshot, and the beginning of l&k too. please give it a listen, it's a beautiful song (and the fact that the vid was shot for the guardian makes me giggle, you'll see)
> 
> lots of love to Sheena for the speedy beta <3  
>  

 

 

_The interview has gone live on the website now. Congratulations!_

Louis barely breathes while he reads the text, quickly exiting out of the conversation with his PR rep and opening the one with his mum. _It’s out_ , he types, absentmindedly noticing how his hands are shaking. The interview with the Guardian, the one where he’s more honest than he’s ever been with a journalist in his life, where he finally tells the truth, is out or rather, _he’s_ out. Trying not to think too hard about what he’s doing, he opens up twitter and finds the Guardian’s account and there it is. Head spinning, he retweets it without comment, watching it pop up in his feed before quickly exiting the app.

For one, dizzying second he thinks he might be sick. His heart is pounding in his chest, so hard he can feel it in his throat, making him taste bile. It feels as if he’s watching himself from the outside, sitting on the side of his bed, ratty old joggers and bedhead and all. He sucks in a breath and jumps when his phone buzzes in his hand. He shoves it under his pillow without looking at the message and gets to his feet, suddenly desperate to get moving. He finds a pair of Vans and nearly crashes into the wall, trying to walk and pull them on at the same time. Air, he needs some air.

It’s cold and dreary outside, and he shivers as he lets the terrace door fall shut behind him. It begins to drizzle as he walks by the pool, heading for the bigger stretch of grass at the back of his yard, but he simply pulls the hood up and ignores the rain. He still feels like he’s not anchored to his own bones, unmoored and unsteady on his feet.

 

There’s a football waiting for him on the grass, he really should get better at putting them away once he’s finished but he always forgets. He retrieves it without a second thought and settles into a jog, keeping the ball in front of him with practiced ease. This, he can do, already breathing a little easier. It’s always been easier to keep the world at bay with a ball at his feet. He’s been doing it for a long time, using football as a distraction.

He did it at thirteen, when he first began to notice how Oliver Bates had begun to fill out his jersey, and all the stuff Louis had been trying not to think too much about since he was nine became impossible to ignore. He spent every day after school out on the pitch for weeks, playing by himself until his lungs ached and he was faster than he’d ever been before, the fastest player on his team. His coach had been impressed, asking him what the sudden dedication came from and Louis hadn’t known what to say. ‘I’m trying to become fast enough to run away from being gay’ didn’t feel like an appropriate answer.

He did it at fifteen, when his mum and Mark divorced and he felt like everything was falling apart. Lottie joined him sometimes, sat on the sidelines watching him practice top bins with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around himself. He’d managed a perfect one the day after the divorce papers had been signed, and when he turned towards Lottie in shock, he found her crying silently into her hands. He had cried then too, with his arms wrapped around her shaking shoulders and his face buried in her hair.

He did the same thing at sixteen when he told his mum he was gay, and a few months later when Luke kissed him at the bus stop, after training. It wasn’t his first kiss, he’d tried it with a couple of girls but it was the first one that made his toes curl and something spark in the pit of his stomach. There had been more kisses after that, hours of snogging and wandering hands and come-stained pants. All of it behind locked doors, music playing, revision their steady excuse. He spent most of his time not locked up with Luke practicing penalties with a, no doubt, ridiculous grin on his face, barely able to concentrate on anything but the memory of Luke’s hands on his dick. 

Then he got the call. If he had been using football as a distraction out of choice earlier, it became a necessity then. Because he felt, without a doubt, like he made a choice when he told his mum he wanted her to sign the contract with Arsenal, that he wanted to move to London, that he wanted his chance to become a real footballer. A choice to only be gay in private, to hide. Because footballers aren’t gay, not the good ones, and if they are they sure aren’t out. He had been so certain of the fact. For a while he was so caught up in the whirlwind of being by himself in a new city and training with the Arsenal junior team that it was okay.

At seventeen staying in the closet had felt like a price he was willing to pay to have his dream come true. At twenty-five, he wants both, and desperately so. Wants both enough to risk everything. 

The rain is coming down harder now, and he’s slowly noticing the way he’s getting soaked, rain streaming down his face. He has no idea how long he’s been running for, but it’s long enough for his lungs to be protesting, calves beginning to burn from the strain and it’s not okay. It’s not fair that he has to be this terrified. He has worked so hard to get where he is, and he doesn’t deserve the risk of having it all taken away because of this. Because of who he is. He should be able to have both. Suddenly so angry he can barely see straight he fires off a shot towards the goal he’s had installed at the edge of the little field. He watches the ball fly through the air, hitting the crossbar with a thump and bouncing off to the side. All fire drained out of him at once, he sits down right there, on the wet grass and when he starts to cry it’s loud and ugly and too much. 

 

Once there’s no proof of his breakdown but the shivery hiccups he remembers from being a kid and crying too hard, he wipes his face with a rain drenched sleeve and climbs to his feet. All of a sudden aware of exactly how wet and cold he is, he leaves the ball behind and heads back to the house. He steps out of his squelching shoes inside the door, but still leaves a wet trail on the floor as he walks through the living room and up the stairs. He looks towards the bed without thinking when he walks into his bedroom, eyes drawn to the pillow covering his phone. He doesn’t want to deal with that just yet.

He’s shivering for a whole different reason as he gets out of his sopping clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor to deal with later. The water in the shower is hot, almost too hot, making his skin prickle when he steps under the spray. He washes slowly, bone tired now despite it not even being noon.

His fingers are pruny by the time he gets out of the shower, perhaps they were like that before he even got in. Catching sight of himself in the mirror above the sink, he stops for a moment to have a proper look. He still looks exactly the same, and it feels wrong somehow. As if something as monumental as this should leave a visible difference. He rubs a hand over his chest, below his collarbones, catching a few stray drops of water. He’s been thinking about getting a new tattoo for a while, something a little bigger. It will have to wait until the season is over, but he already has a ideas about what he’d like, a reminder of the things that can’t be changed. 

The rain is still smattering against his windows while he gets dressed and towels his hair. Still ignoring his phone he thanks his lucky stars he has nowhere he needs to be today, a rare day off, and wanders downstairs in search of tea. He fidgets while he waits for the kettle to boil, filling the dishwasher and wiping down the counters in a surprising burst of domesticity. The cleaning service is coming by tomorrow, it’s usually a woman in her fifties named Janet. He finds himself wondering if she reads the Guardian. He makes his tea and brings the mug with him into the living room, curling up on the sofa. The blanket his sisters got him for his birthday is there, the hideous, fuzzy purple one he always has to hide away whenever he has guests over lest he be ridiculed forever. But it’s cozy, excellent for days when he’s poorly or hungover, and it feels apt to wrap it around himself today. A neon purple, furry shield against the world. 

Using his ipad he brings up an old episode of the X Factor on his tv. It’s a bit crap and he’s already watched it but he finds himself pressing play anyway. He doesn’t want to watch it as much as have something to keep his head occupied for a bit while he sips his tea.

Besides, Nick Grimshaw is one of the judges this season and he’s, well, he’s fit. Nick has a big, contagious laugh and legs for days and he might be the only reason Louis is still watching the show. He has a tiny, very secret crush on Nick and it makes him feel a bit like a fourteen year-old, but today is a day for self indulgence. On screen Nick is coaching his group, preparing them for their performances and being so earnestly supportive it makes Louis’ chest swell. Nick’s gay, his brain reminds him. Gay and out and still gets to have a career. He’s out the way Louis is out. Fuck, he’s _out_.

Struck by the sudden, desperate need to know what people are saying he frees himself from the blanket cave he has constructed. The battery on his phone is down to 7% when he digs it out from under the pillow, and he plugs it in before turning his attention to the notifications lined up at the top of the screen. There are sixteen new messages in his whatsapp alone. Fucking hell.

He sits down on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest and back against the bed. Trying not to look at the previews he scrolls down until he finds the ones from his mum. The first one, the response to his own message from this morning, is a selfie of her and the youngest twins smiling at the camera.

 _We love you and we’re so proud of you_.

There’s a second one sent half an hour later. _I read the article. it’s brilliant. I’m so proud of you darling. Love you lots. Call me later xx_.

There’s another one, from Liam, that says ‘ _good job boss_ ’ followed by a row of cheering emojis. Liam already knew, one of the few people outside Louis’ immediate family that did before this morning. Feeling a little braver Louis switches over to twitter. Liam has retweeted the article, adding a “big day proud of you tommo” and reading it nearly has him tearing up again. He doesn’t go into his mentions, his PR rep specifically told him not to, said it would probably be best to wait a few days and remembering that conversation makes his stomach drop. Has he ruined it all but simply doesn’t know about it yet? He spoke to the coach before, knows the club is okay with it, but there’s no way to know if the same goes for his team mates or the fans or every other person on the planet with an opinion about football.

He goes back to checking his messages, making a conscious effort to stop chewing nervously on his own bottom lip. There’s one from Zayn, and suddenly Louis misses him so much it’s like a physical ache. _Love you mate_ , the text reads, and Louis has to blink at the sudden burn behind his eyes as he types out a ‘ _love you too call ya later_ ’. 

He hasn’t seen Zayn in person in months, the end of season keeping both of them busy. He knows how much Zayn loves it in Madrid and on the team, happy with the amount of play time he’s been getting and how well the team is doing in the league. But on a purely personal level, however, Louis wishes Zayn could have stayed in London, or at least on British soil. He misses having his best friend around, and if he allows himself to think about it he also misses the semi-regular orgasms. Their old arrangement doesn’t work over Skype, it’s always been an “I’m here, you’re here, we’re both gay” kind of deal and first and foremost they’re friends, best friends. Friends don’t get each other off over Skype.

He works through his inbox, tapping out replies and leaving a whole bunch of emojis in the chat group he’s in with Lottie and Fizzy. There are no messages from the others on the team apart from Liam, and while he wasn’t expecting it, it still feels like a punch to the face. 

He could understand if the ones he considers friends are upset with him, but he wishes they’d at least tell him. Him, Theo and Alex hang out a lot, they’ve known each other for years, were on the junior team together. Him and Theo shared a room during the World Cup last year, yet he’s never told them, has always kept that part of himself locked up tightly. He’s hooked up with girls with them around, he remembers with a wince. Alex set him up on a date with one of his girlfriend’s friends. Neither of them has ever said anything particularly homophobic that he can remember, but that doesn’t mean they’re okay with it, he knows that. 

Overwhelmed by the need to know where they stand, and knowing that they’re not seeing each other in training until late afternoon tomorrow, he brings up their group chat.

 _Did you hear about the interview I did with the guardian_ , he types, even though phrasing it like that makes him feel like a coward. It’s not fair. He sits, phone in hand, staring at the screen. He watches the colour change, indicating that both of them has read his message, and nearly forgets to breath when the “...typing” shows up in the corner. Perhaps this is it, the end of years of easy friendship, having a laugh during training, watching movies together during long flights. The screen has gone black before the first message comes through and his phone buzzes in his hand. There’s more than one message, and he finds himself holding his breath as he unlocks the screen.

 _Ngl bit of a shock mate_ , Theo’s first message reads. _But it doesn’t matter to me, I don’t care who you shag you’re my mate_ , it goes on, and Louis breathes a sigh of relief. Alex’s text follows, _good on ya tommo_.

 _Sorry I didn’t tell you_.

The reply doesn’t come for a long time, and when it does it’s Theo. _Don’t worry about it, we’ll talk tomorrow yeah? Gotta go_

 _Sure ttyl_ , Louis types back, trying to ignore the lump in his throat and the niggling feeling that his friends are holding back, aren’t telling him what they’re really thinking. He doesn’t blame them, not really, it’s a big thing that he’s kept from them and he’s not sure how he would deal with finding out something similar. It doesn’t stop him from feeling like shit about it.

He has a meeting with his management and PR reps tomorrow morning, and then afternoon training at Colney. He’s already dreading both events, can’t even picture what training will be like. They have a home game on Saturday, an important one, he really hopes they won’t be playing in front of a half full stadium because of him. It is what it is, he reminds himself as he walks back down the stairs. He’s out and there’s no going back to how it was before. The X Factor episode is still playing on his tv, Nick Grimshaw is talking to one of the contestants after their performance, all big hand gestures and sparkling eyes. He really is ridiculously pretty.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis is out and things should be easy, they might not be as easy as he'd hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> I don't know how this happened either, but I'm not complaining, haha.
> 
> This one is for 1000_directions, whipped, Hodgies and Miadotfi, because your kind words meant a lot to me and made writing this so much easier. Thank you <3
> 
> Sheena, thanks for the help, love <3 (I always giggle to myself whenever I type 'love' because I feel like I'm playing pretend)
> 
>  

 

 

 

Louis’ phone rings as he’s walking from the garage to his front door. He fumbles trying to retrieve it from his pocket without losing the hold he has on his bag, and ends up answering the call bent over awkwardly in the middle of his driveway. The bag still slips off his shoulder, landing on the gravel with a soft crunch.

“Hi love.” It’s his mum, the sound of his siblings in the background. He can picture them easily, the pre dinner mayhem when everyone comes back from the day’s activities and the youngest are just tired enough to be at their loudest. It’s not a time his mum usually phones him, and he knows what’s coming before the words are out of her mouth. “How was it today? How was training?”

“It was-” He knows he should have prepared himself better for this conversation the second he blanks. Or even better, he should have texted her before leaving Colney and avoided this all together. She’ll know now. “It was okay.”

That’s a lie. Or at least a gross exaggeration. First of all he’d almost been late, coming straight from the meeting with his management and PR reps. There had been no time for a chat with his friends before, he’d rushed through getting changed before they all gathered out on the field. He’d gotten a slap on the back and a ‘talk later’ from Liam before warm ups but that’s it. The rest of was… awkward. He’d been feeling too self aware, desperately trying to get out of his own head and into the exercises but failing spectacularly. 

“Yeah?” His mum replies, doubt clear as day in her voice.

“It was quiet.” He might have preferred a snide comment or insult to be honest, an opportunity to say something, anything, about what happened yesterday but the opportunity never came. He caught a few looks, and there was definitely tension that couldn’t be blamed on the derby ahead of them. He’d spent the two hours feeling as if there was suddenly an enormous, pink elephant on the pitch with them that no one was commenting on, but constantly moving around with obvious discomfort on some parts. If his newly outed sexuality could be likened to a pink elephant, that is. “Mikel said he was happy for me, that he’d read the article.” He tells her, shrugging his bag into place. The team captain had come up to him on his way to the changing room.

“That’s nice.” Jay says, and he knows she’s trying to be supportive. He doesn’t want to tell her that what it did, more than anything, was leave him trying to figure out if it was genuine or simply Mikel doing his job as captain of the team. He’s tired, so tired of second guessing every relationship he has with his team mates, every comment and every look thrown his way.

“Was Liam around? What about the others-” His mum trails off, searching for the names and he wishes she would stop. “Theo?”

“They were.” Louis replies. He’s so grateful for Liam, who had carried on as usual, making small talk about the upcoming match and the last episode of Blacklist. He’d wanted to say more, Louis could tell, probably waiting for the locker room to clear out a little first. Louis hadn’t given him the opportunity though, had left as quickly and quietly as possible once most of the team was in the showers. The conversation with Theo and Alex had been brief, and uncomfortable. They’d repeated what they had said yesterday, and he’s apologised again for not telling them and got another round if ‘it’s okay’s. He’s not sure he believes them and he doesn’t know how to fix that. They’re a little hurt, or offended maybe, and it’s his fault yet he can’t seem to stop feeling like they should just get over it. He desperately wants them around but can’t ask that of them while feeling like he’s the one in the wrong. “Liam offered to punch anyone being a twat about it.”

Jay snickers at that, and when Louis asks her about their day she drops the subject. She’s telling him a story of what the younger twins have been up to at school this week, while he unlocks his front door only to find the alarm off, confused for a moment until he sees the cleaning equipment in the hallway. 

Feeling a little bit like an intruder in his own home, he carefully slips out of his trainers and walks in direction of the sound of someone vacuuming in the dining room. He doesn’t even know why he has a dining room, can only remember using it for Christmas once a few years ago when the whole family came down from Doncaster. The woman from his cleaning service looks up, a little startled, when he walks through the door, and he offers her an apologetic wave. She nods back, returns to her work, and he wonders if she knows.

“...Lou?”

“Huh?” He’s brought back to their conversation by his mum’s question. “Sorry, I-”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jay sounds worried, again.

“Would you stop asking me that?” Louis snaps, but immediately regrets it, pausing to pull in a deep breath before he says something he’ll regret.

“I will not.” Jay replies, a touch of steel in her voice now. “Not when I get the feeling you’re not being honest with me, sweetheart.”

“I’m okay, Mum, I promise.” He sighs, guilt curling in his stomach. He doesn’t want to talk to her right now, wants a moment to wallow in private and doesn’t need any added pity. “I should go, I need to have a shower.” He realises his mistake the second the words leave his mouth.

“A shower? Didn’t you shower before you left training? I thought-” Jay trails off, confused, but then it’s like he can almost _hear_ her connect the dots. 

“Well today I didn’t.” He aims for lighthearted, knowing she won’t buy it for a second.

“Louis-”

“Don’t.” It comes out pleading this time, and he pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s okay, alright. I’m fine.”

“Oh, darling,” She sounds upset and he hates it, hates this. Things were supposed to get easier after that bloody article. “I’m sorry things are hard for you.”

“It’ll be okay, mum, I promise. I just figured I’d give them more than 24 hours to get used to the idea.”

His mum is quiet for a long moment before she speaks back up. “Okay, but please talk to me, love, don’t do this all on your own.”

“I will.” He replies, not sure if it’s a lie or not. “I promise.” Commotion breaks out on Jay’s end of the line, the sound of wailing following. “It sounds like you have to go”

“Yes,” His mum agrees, “Ernie, don’t do that,” she continues with such exasperation in her voice that Louis has to smile. Trust his brother to follow in his footsteps and keep their mum on her toes. “I’ll talk to you later, okay, Lou? Love you.”

“Love you too.” He replies, for a moment wishing he was home with them so fiercely it almost takes his breath away. “Tell the others I said hi.”

“Will do, darling, bye.”

He ends the call and trudges up the stairs, leaving his bag forgotten in the hallway. They cleaner has already been upstairs, he can tell from the fresh bedding, and he breathes a sigh of relief. At least now he can have a shower and hide for a bit until she’s done with the downstairs.

 

 

 

They’re lined up, waiting for the referee to start walking. The sound of the stadium is getting louder by the minute and Louis is absolutely bricking it. For a second he contemplates running away, or faking a stomach flu. He can’t go out there, no way.

The Emirates is filled to capacity, 60 000 screaming fans waiting for the derby against West Ham to commence. He should be relieved it’s not half empty, has woken up in a cold sweat twice this week from dreams of playing in front of empty stands. He’s not. Right now he almost wishes it was empty so he wouldn’t have to face the fans.

It’s been difficult, staying away from twitter and all other social media. Usually he’s a regular tweeter, knows a lot of his fans enjoy it. His follower count is down almost 200 000, he checked this morning. His PR says it’s to be expected. Says the reaction has been mostly positive. Says a lot of things that Louis doesn’t have the energy to listen to. They want him to do another interview, preferably on television. He told them he’d do it if they got him on James Corden’s show, thinking they’d never manage that, but James had said yes. 

There has been articles, lots of them. He’s tried not to pay them any attention but it’s proven near impossible. He’s so tired, has spent most of the week holed up in his house with his playstation for company and he doesn’t do well when he’s left on his own for too long. Then there’s the feeling that he’s hiding, being a coward, and it doesn’t sit well with him at all. He doesn’t want fear to hold him back, but this week even going out for groceries has felt like too much. At the same time he’s a little mad it’s so hard, that it hasn’t gotten easier right away.

“You okay, Lou?” 

Louis nearly jumps out of his kit as Liam’s hands land on his shoulder, squeezing briefly. Liam spoke the words quietly, and there’s no way anyone else heard the question through the excitement from the crowd and the players’ small talk. He nods, tersely, knows Liam has seen right through him when he gives Louis’ shoulder another squeeze, goalkeeper gloves catching on the fabric of Louis’ jersey. “You’ll be fine, let’s go out there and show them how it’s done.” Liam reassures him, and then walks up to his spot in the line. The referee starts walking, and unable to do anything but, Louis follows.

 

 

 

The match is okay. He’s playing well enough, even though he catches a few choice words thrown his way from players on the other team. There are a few crude signs that make his stomach drop when he spots them, but they seem to be handled by the stewards. A small rainbow flag catches his attention at one point, and the girl holding it grins as he offers her a quick wave. 

They’re up by two goals heading into halftime. Coach is pleased, tells them to keep going and when they go back out for the second half Louis is almost enjoying himself. That’s when it happens.

He’s taking a throw-in, a good chance for them on West Ham’s side of the pitch. He’s searching for Theo amongst the players who has moved towards him on the sideline, preparing to get the ball back in play, when something small hits him in the head. Pain, hot and sharp, erupts at the back of his head and he’s so unprepared for it, it makes him stumble and drop the ball. Distantly, he can hear the crowd roar, the referee’s whistle blowing, and someone calling his name. Adrenaline bursts through his veins like a tidal wave, and he sinks into a crouch, hands going to his head. There’s blood on his fingers when he removes his hand. Not a lot, but it’s there. He swallows hard against the sharp stinging pain, tries to breathe through the simmering panic. It’s okay, it’s nothing big, it’s okay.

The team’s medical staff swarms around him, urging him to sit down, always thorough when there could be a possible head injury. When he does he catches sight of something glittering in the grass to his left. It’s a keyring, a metal one. The club’s crest is on it and Louis wants to curl up and hide.

“Dizzy?.” The head of their medical team is asking and he shakes his head. He’s not dizzy, not from pain at least, it’s only adrenaline making him feel a little unsteady. 

“I’m okay.” He replies, lying through his teeth. He’s not okay, he wants to go home. “Wrap it up.”

They ignore him, the doctor poking and prodding at him with carefully but efficiently. He has a frown on his face when he asks Louis to look at him, carefully assessing the look in his eyes. “How’s your vision?”

“Fine.” Louis says, unusually uncomfortable with the attention as well as his own reaction. He lets the hand that’s offered to him pull him to his feet. The gauze feels strange, too tight around his head, and the wound throbs dully. They make their way off the pitch, and Theo takes over for him on the sideline. 

“Alright there, Tommo?” Santi calls out to him from the bench.

“All good.” He calls back, has a drink when a bottle is offered to him. It’s not, but all of a sudden he’s mad, frowning at the rainbow laces in his shoes while he waits to be let back into play. Fuck whoever it was that thought being a fan meant hurling sharp objects at one of his own players. Fuck all of it. He has earned his place in this team and he’ll prove it to them again and again if he has to.

When the assistant referee finally lets him back on the pitch it takes him a few steps to catch onto what the crowd is singing. It’s his song, the one they made up for him last year when he scored a hat trick in the FA Cup. Overwhelmed, he can’t do much but smile, and pushing a little more energy into his step and throws himself back in the game. 

 

 

 

He never thought he’d say having a keyring thrown at his head would be a good thing, and it’s not, not really, but it does let him know where he stands with his teammates. Because most of them are outraged on his behalf, a couple a little less vocal but still offering him supportive looks in the locker room afterwards. A few look away, doesn’t comment, and it sucks but at least he knows now.

Liam is furious, scowling so hard it’s almost comical despite the fact that they won the game, and are one step closer to their much wanted second place in the League. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s the third time he’s asked the same question and Louis ignores him, busy trying to reply to his mum’s worried texts.

“I can’t believe someone would do that, that’s messed up, mate.”

“Yep.” Louis agrees, then turns towards his bag. Fuck it, he’s having a shower. He’s sweaty and achy and so fucking done being considerate and careful. 

“Let’s go out to dinner tonight.” Liam says, and the sudden change of subject throws Louis for a loop.

“Are you asking me on a date?” 

“Oh yeah, definitely, Sophia and I have been looking for a threesome partner.” Liam deadpans and Louis is impressed by his attempt at wit, seriously. It doesn’t mean that he’ll say yes, though.

“I don’t think so, Payno, another time, yeah?”

Liam frowns, looking up from where he’s digging through his own bag in search of something. “You can’t hide away in your house forever.”

“Oh, fuck off, Liam.” Louis spits out. He doesn’t appreciate the call out one bit. “You think I don’t know that?”

Liam’s face falls. “That’s not, sorry, I didn’t.” He looks two seconds away from wringing his hands and fucking hell, Louis is already feeling bad for snapping at him. “Sorry.”

“I know you didn’t just-” 

“Soph and I are going out for dinner, we’d love for you to join us.” Liam cuts him off with his explanation. “She asked me about you this morning, said it’s been too long since she saw you.”

Guilt, familiar and unwelcome, rears its ugly head again. It has been a long time since all three of them got together, and even though he’d like to go home and hide, he knows it might be good for him to go out, get out of his own head for a while. “Only if I get to pick the restaurant.”

 

 

 

He uploads a picture on instagram later that night, officially making his return to his social media. It’s a blurry selfie of him, Liam and Sophia tucked into a booth at one of Louis’ favourite restaurants. Liam and Sophia are making googly eyes at each other, and Louis is pulling a longsuffering face at the camera that barely covers up the fond smile. 

_Dinner with these two lovebirds tonight. Good game today. Thanks for all your support !!_

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> thanks for reading. come say hi on [tumblr](camiii.tumblr.com)


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